“I am not sure of the exact nature of this danger,” Watershine responded, “but I am certain of the danger itself.” He looked around. “And I will say this: I believe it is something that will make the cutting of the black strips seem trivial.”
A dull murmur made its way through the crowd. Even the young bucks that had not been around to leave Tanglewood had ventured over to see the black strips, and heard the tales of a time when they did not exist. They heard stories of the rabbits that had lost their lives during the cutting of the strips, and the subsequent Exodus from Tanglewood.
“I believe a time is coming,” Watershine boomed, silencing them at once. “When it may be necessary for all chendrith to unite and fight a common enemy.” He expected another murmur from the crowd, but the bucks were silent. For a moment, Watershine’s gaze landed on Sivic again, who was busy scanning the faces of the other bucks, monitoring their reactions to Watershine’s words.
“Why?” a somewhat-defiant voice asked from the rear of the room.
Watershine whirled to locate the owner. No one dared confront the strong Teinche to his face. “Has no one else sensed the coming danger?” Watershine demanded. “Is there no one who has caught it on the wind? Or heard it in the leaves? Or felt as if the very earth itself were stamping?” Watershine stared around the room. Silence descended.
“I have,” a single voice said.
The bucks gathered in the Council Oak watched as the older, slower rabbit made his way to meet Watershine—slow not with age, but sobriety and deliberateness. Whispers went through the crowd. Some knew this rabbit.
“Sivic,” Watershine smiled. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You’re still my Teinche, sir,” Sivic bowed slightly.
“You’ve sensed it, too, then?” Watershine spoke as if no one else was inside the oak with them.
“Aye,” Sivic nodded. He looked at Watershine. “Do you have any ideas what it might be?”
Watershine closed his eyes and lowered his head. His words seemed to creep forth from some deep, hidden place, a cryptic pit where words are dusted off before spoken: “Loehs-Anneheg,” he whispered (this is pronounced “loit annesh”). Sivic regarded Watershine silently, his brow furrowed slightly at the mysterious words.
“What . . . ?” he asked.
As one waking to realize he has been talking in his sleep, Watershine looked up. Sivic stared at him curiously. Watershine met his gaze for a moment, but then looked past him to all the other longing stares of the bucks gathered. How many families at Firhouse now? he wondered. Two younger bucks near the front of the room whispered back and forth and shrugged their shoulders. Behind them, a roomful of dull eyes bobbed like a gathering of pale stars. They do not understand, thought Watershine.
He met Sivic’s gaze once more, and simply said, “It’s probably best to show you, my old friend.”
CHAPTER 4
“Into the Night”
The band of rabbits stood at the edge of the first wood and stared across the field. The “deeper wood” was little more than a black smudge along the opposite side. The others had caught up to the scout, who now halted and rose up on his hind legs, his ears lifted high like radar, sniffing the air. The sound that made him stop was heard by them all: a soft, tearing sound, away to their left. Still up on his hind legs, he looked at Watershine: “Ctiansu,” he whispered, and darted off again, disappearing into the mist.
Watershine, Sivic, and the others slowly followed.
Rolling gray patches of clouds were patterned against the deep, dark blue of the winter sky above like an enormous quilt. The rabbits stole silently across the field to the “deeper wood” on the other side. Towering black forms of the ctiansu appeared and disappeared again within the mist around them, like shapes underwater. Some paused long enough from their grazing to wonder at the small shapes scampering past them in the mist. The cows’ warm breath billowed before their large snouts like dragon’s breath in the cool night air.
The rabbits reached the far side of the field, and their collective pace slowed as they entered the “deeper woods”. These woods were the very eastern edge of Ballivor, which comes into this story later. The rabbits moved slowly, cautiously. The trees rose ominous around them, like wooden sentries; the dark night deepened even more. The path seemed to disappear behind them, making retreat a vague notion. The rabbits were jumpy; they hardly ever came to this place. Out of the black gloom, a strange night-call rang out, and several of them huddled together. Unfazed, Watershine proceeded to the head of the group and led them on at a steady pace. The air was cooler and damper in the woods. The wet pine needles were cold and foreign. The rabbits paused every so often and desperately tried to shake the dew from their paws.
They came to an odd long and flat opening within the trees, where the ground was only compacted dirt, rather than grass. The opening stretched away in both directions. Above them, one of the rabbits pointed out Mullingar, the Mighty Rabbit Hunter who was forever set amongst the stars (of course, the rabbits did not refer to them, or even think of them, as stars the way you and I would. “Dupani” is their word for them, which basically means, “small night lights”. “Dupan” is their word for the moon). The rabbits sniffed suspiciously at the strange dirt clearing.
“It’s an elahs peilo,” Watershine said and looked all around. “We draw close to their world now. Come; we must cross to the other side. Quickly!” The command was passed through the ranks. One by one, their black shapes jetted across the dirt road. Within moments, the band was safely on the other side where the wood continued.
They trudged on until they lost all track of time and distance. The rabbits became aware of a new smell, and a soft, distant crashing sound from the woods on their right. An excitement grew, for some of them knew from the smell and sounds that somewhere far below lay the fabled Arjo E’alu – the fields of water – which stretched out to the horizon. Here, within distance of the Arjo E’alu, the world suddenly seemed much larger and foreboding to many of them, and the safety of the Council Oak seemed long ago and far away. Even Sivic felt a sense of wonder at knowing they were close enough to actually hear and smell the Arjo E’alu.
But Watershine pressed on.
They traveled almost a mile from Firhouse, about twenty of them in all. Some had stayed behind to guard the warenne. The rabbits moved silently, as if sound itself had become a forbidden thing. The whole area seemed devoid of chendrith activity for such a beautiful night. In fact, they were the only chendrith they had seen since leaving the Council Oak, save for one opossum who had blundered past them in a hangar of trees, muttering to himself.
“The chendray seems strangely silent, Teinche,” Sivic said.
“Aye,” Watershine responded, but remained deep in thought.
Sivic found himself once again admiring Watershine. He was a tremendous Teinche. Still, Sivic could not help but wonder just where the leader was taking them. Most rabbits were not given to wandering this far from a warenne. Yet somehow – for some reason – Watershine had found this place. He had found it and sensed that its potential impact on Firhouse – perhaps even upon the entire chendray – was so great that he had risked a journey of this kind to bring them here.
But, what is it?
Still wondering, Sivic and the others emerged from a line of trees at the edge of the forest, and into the open moonlight. To be out of the woods should have been a welcome and refreshing change for the rabbits! But there was something unsettling about being exposed. Something . . . wrong. They gathered atop a gentle slope. Without hesitation, Watershine led them down the slope toward a bank of pale mist a few yards away. The line of trees that marked the edge of the forest behind them swooped down and away to the right and to the left. In the grey distance, they could just make out where the trees eventually curved back around in a wide arc to form a vast perimeter, like an enormous fairy-ring. Past that distant band of trees, unbeknownst to the rabbits, the ground dropped dramatically away in a series
of sharp, rocky cliffs that met with the Arjo E’alu far below. The sea now appeared to them as only a great sweeping plain of dark blue that blended with a deep violet sky on the horizon. The only sound in the night was the waves crashing violently upon the rocks far below. It was a sound that would have been soothing otherwise, but instead seemed to have a hypnotic effect, not unlike the mythical sirens luring sailors to their watery graves.
The group of rabbits slowly swayed back and forth at the sound, their eyes wide. “Come, milpas,” Watershine said, and calmly urged them into the bank of mist.
CHAPTER 5
“The First Glimpse”
The ground swept away before the rabbits and opened in a wide field. The space was like a huge basin, crowned by the dark rim of trees. Lying across the basin, outstretched like an enormous blanket, was the strange pale mist, undisturbed. The whole place had the look and feel of an enormous cauldron. The rabbits felt the mist close around them, sealing them in, cold and wet against their already-damp fur. It was strange; thicker than any mist they had been in before. They were surrounded by a dull, throbbing pulse that emanated from nowhere in particular. It hedged them in and made them confused. Even the very ground seemed to pulsate, alive with some forgotten power. Vibrations pressed against their eardrums, and they shook their heads in protest, wondering if the trek would ever end. The safety of the estaclah seemed so long ago. They had all grown older since then, hadn’t they? They finally emerged from the mist on the other side and paused, their attention arrested by something far below.
The mist continued to curl down the slope before them in a thick carpet, but also spread above in a thin ceiling. The mist was pierced here and there by tall, skeletal trees; trees covered in ivy, shapes like great hooded dancers petrified in mid-step, with arms aloft and fingers splayed, or one leg raised high and leaned back. Everything in the landscape seemed frozen, as though by some evil spell. The whole place was bathed in a pale green light, giving it an unnatural and otherworldly look. Far below, at the base of the field, just where the basin started to curve up again towards the line of trees, was the source of the glow: a huge huathos, a Man-place. A large stone building, like an ancient island in a forgotten sea of mist, its walls marked with spires and turrets, and covered in cracked ivy. It looked like a giant upturned claw, reaching toward the sky from the belly of the earth itself.
The rabbits stood with mouths agape. Watershine saw they were at last beginning to understand. It was good he had brought them here.
Sivic turned to him and asked quietly, “What is it, Teinche?”
“I do not know,” Watershine said, looking down the slope. “I know it must be old, ancient . . . and yet I have heard none speak of it before. Who knows?” he said, and shook his head. “Perhaps it has always been here, Sivic. Just . . . waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” Sivic asked quietly.
Watershine closed his eyes and sighed. As if tearing his gaze away from the sight below with great effort, he looked at Sivic and spoke: “A few days ago, word reached my ear that something was stirring.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Loehs-Anneheg,” he spoke the cryptic words again, but added, “The evil deep within the woods.” Sivic stared as Watershine continued. “I set out in search of it, and eventually made my way here. It took me days to find, Sivic. But, even when I did,” he paused, “nothing prepared me for this.”
“It’s bad, whatever it is,” Sivic said after a long pause. “Isn’t it, Teinche?”
“Sivic . . . I fear this is the worst of all fates, my friend.”
The two looked back far below: the strange castle, the eerie glow. The other rabbits were entranced by it. Some had never even seen a man-place before, and this was genuinely shocking. But there was something else about the place.
Something hidden…
Elusive…
Underneath…
Something that hinted this was the work of something other than man.
More than man.
“It stinks of death here,” Watershine said, and wrinkled his nose. He didn’t just mean it figuratively. There was a smell of dead things all around. Not an obvious, rotting sort of smell; a clinical, sterilized, disposal kind of odor. You and I would probably not have even picked up on such a smell. For animals – who rely as much upon a sense of smell as these rabbits – the odor was unmistakable. “It’s not just rabbits,” he continued. “It’s all chendrith.” Watershine looked down at the huathos far below them. “They’re doing something in that place, Sivic. Something awful.” He leaned in closer to his friend and his words seemed to creak out: “Something evil.” Sivic stared at Watershine a moment, as the Teinche’s eyes drifted away and he fell silent.
“Teinche,” Sivic said quietly. “We’d better get them back, sir.”
Sivic’s words brought Watershine back from some deep place he had gone in his mind. “What?” he looked around. “Oh . . . of course, Sivic, of course.” Watershine chuckled nervously; very uncharacteristic for this great leader.
Sivic was worried.
The two turned to head up the slope the way they’d come. The other rabbits followed. Nothing needed to be said. Bringing them here had exactly the kind of effect Watershine had hoped for; he could see it in their eyes. They would listen now. He just needed to make sure they would not talk. Not yet, at least. They would reconvene at the Council Oak and he would make that point very clear. He needed to come up with a plan.
The rabbits moved slowly, as if drugged. They were quiet, each of them trying to compartmentalize what they had seen. The problem was they had never seen anything like this before.
“I’m glad you came, Sivic,” Watershine said. “It’s good to see you again, friend.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Teinche. I wish it were under different circumstances.”
“Aye,” Watershine nodded. Then he added, “You’ll come live with us at Firhouse now? You and Jola and your kitten?”
“We shall,” Sivic replied, not needing to think about it. He made his decision tonight, standing beside Watershine again. He missed this, and he wanted his young ‘un to know this kind of life; especially if there was something ominous lingering in their future. His family needed to be in a proper warenne now. “If there’s a place for us, that is,” he added.
“Always,” Watershine said. Then, to make sure Sivic understood, he said it again: “Always.”
The two hopped in satisfied silence a moment, headed back up through the mist the way they had come. Watershine checked the ranks every now and then to make sure his bucks kept up. Sivic stared at the ground, thinking of how Jola and the young ‘un would take the news of their moving. Slowly, he said to Watershine, “Teinche, you spoke of all the chendrith uniting. What exactly did you mean by that?”
Watershine paused on his way up the slope and looked at Sivic. He was about to answer when the night exploded with a burst of light. An ear-splitting siren screamed around them. The rabbits froze, and all became noise and glare. The light reflected off the mist, blinding them. The siren rose and fell in a hideous, undulating pitch.
Sivic and Watershine immediately put their backs to one another, military-style. They squinted, but it was hard to see anything. It was like “snow-blindness”. The mist seemed to conduct the dazzling, white light, and took on a smothering, labyrinthine quality. Panic set in. Watershine desperately scanned the white canvas for the other bucks. Shapes moved. Voices cried out. A single call sliced through the night with a dreaded word – a word that made all their blood run like ice: “Dogs!”
Like twin locomotives emerging from tandem tunnels, Sivic saw two black dogs appear out of the snowy mist. They came on swiftly, militantly, without making a single noise, which was very unusual. Typically, these beasts gave themselves away with barks of ignorant excitement.
But there was something different about these.
They were deliberate in their approach.
The fact that any of the rabbits had even seen the dogs w
as a miracle. Whoever had first shouted the warning had surely not lived to join the flight.
Watershine rose on his hind legs. Sivic looked at him.
An unknown voice strained nearby: “Teinche?”
“Run!” Watershine cried, and bolted up the slope, giving action to his own command. Then, he called out again: “RUN!”
Not that any of them had to be convinced.
CHAPTER 6
“A Desperate Flight”
The problem with trying to make an escape from a dead-stop is that the pursuer has not slowed in their approach. The dogs came on at full tilt just as the rabbits started to flee. Rabbits can run quite fast, however, and their powerful hind legs pumped furiously at the ground. Fear certainly has a way of fueling even the most tired and exhausted. And so, the rabbits ran, even though – before – they’d thought they had no strength.
“Run, milpas! Run!” Watershine cried.
Sivic paced alongside Watershine. Frightened as he was, he felt exhilarated. Sivic had once been one of Watershine’s most trusted guards, always sent to head up missions and such. Ever since Tanglewood had moved, Sivic’s life had become sedentary and routine. He’d had no idea how much he’d missed a life of action—until now! To feel the evening wind at his face again, to run through an open field – even in the face of danger – to be side by side with his old Teinche. It was grand! He found an unusual strength in his legs, and his pace quickened. When he looked at Watershine, however, he saw something different.
The Teinche did not look exhilarated.
The Teinche looked terrified.
His breathing was labored, and the finest string of spittle worked its way back through the fur along one cheek from his mouth.
We’ve run from dogs before, thought Sivic. Why?
The Evil Within the Woods Page 3